An Honest Trade: The Smuggler's Tale
by purplestainedglass
Summary: In extended universe, in the spirit of the films. Tune in for smuggling adventure, with Han Solo humour, Luke Skywalker flying and a sassy lady too. Loads of fun, please read!
1. Sweetheart

**An Honest Trade: The Smuggler's Tale**

Chapter 1 

There are many different ways to repair a spaceship.  If you're rich, you hire a mechanic and if you're poor, you do it yourself.

     But Omad Zipphah didn't have the time for either of these two options as he ran into the cockpit of his "modified" freighter _The Honey _and started the engines.  A familiar whine filled the cabin, then died again as the sublight drive protested the rough treatment, but a good thump perked it up and without even taking time to activate the repulsorlifts, Omad lifted off.

     The few troopers who had been unlucky enough to follow him into the bay were fried in his engine wash, and though their colleagues let loose with hand blasters, he was soon out of their range.  He wheeled round, heading for the edge of the planetary shield and went to check on his co-pilot, a Devish called Sumatra, who had been hit on the leg with a blaster at their last stop and had been resting in her cabin.  

     "Hey, what was all that about sweetheart?" she asked as he came in.

     "I had a little, uh, disagreement with the port guards about our cargo and they didn't want to let me take off. And don't call me sweetheart! I'm not a kid!"

     "Just as you say sweetheart," she replied.  "But didn't I hear _Honey's engines almost giving up back then?  I think you'll have to see to that soon or the casing will crack and you'll have to get it replaced.  _Sweetheart._"_

     "Why didn't that blaster get your tongue?" he muttered as he headed back to the cockpit.  

     He scanned his displays and saw with alarm that the sublight engines were only at 30% of their peak efficiency.  At that rate, we'll never make it past the shield before they launch their security fighters, he thought to himself.

     "Sumatra!" he called. "You'll have to come through and take control while I go back to try and fix the engines."  A minute later she was through, with a large bandage tied tightly round her wound and a rather tight face, but she sat down in her chair and made a few adjustments to the speed and height of the ship.  " There." she said.  " That'll stop it blowing up in your face, but you'd better be quick.  There'll be Z-95s everywhere in a minute, and while security aren't exactly crack shots, even they can't miss at point 

blank range."

     "It's OK. I'm hurrying!" he yelled over his shoulder as he left the cockpit.__

     He had about 5 minutes to repair the engines and, while Sumatra was a good pilot, he knew she couldn't fly and shoot by remote at the same time.

     He rushed down the passage to the cargo hold and ran a quick diagnostic on the sublight drive.  It was as he had feared.  There was a puncture in the coolant pipe and the ship had automatically closed off the damaged section but with not enough coolant the engine was overheating fast and there was no way he could get in there to fix it. 

     He flicked on the com and said "Sumatra? The coolant has cut off and the engine's already too hot for me to fix it. Plot a course for a deserted bit of space near here and have us all set to go to lightspeed as soon as we clear the planet.  OK? I'm on my way back up."

     He sprinted back up the corridor to the cockpit and slid into his seat.  She already had the guns and the shields powering up and as he checked the co-ordinates she had set, she said "6 Z-95s coming up at 5 o'clock.  Get ready for some fancy flying."

     A voice came over the com.  "Freighter _Honey, you are unauthorised to leave.  Please turn round and return to Zeggate or we will take offensive action.  De-activation of your com will be construed as unwillingness to comply."_

     "Stuff you!" Omad muttered as he switched off the com.  "We outgun you and we can outfly you but unfortunately you outnumber us.  Well, I like a challenge. "

     "Only if you come out of it alive, flyboy," Sumatra said seriously "and I wouldn't place any bets on this one."

     He didn't reply, as at that moment two Z-95s dived at him, wingtip lasers blazing.  He got off a few stray shots but the little snubfighters got away, and _Honey's shields had taken quite a battering. _

      "You know," he said "If we want to get any I'll have to go up to the laser turret and shoot from there. The slave-shooting controls aren't great on this ship and we don't have so much power that we can afford to miss."  He executed a complicated corkscrew manoeuvre and looped up and around his attackers before jumping out of his seat and running up to the gun turret.

     He switched on the com and found the targeting controls and while he waited for the guns to warm up, he asked his co-pilot if she could handle flying the ship by herself.  A furious voice came back over the com, saying "I don't know about you, _flyboy, but I could fly this ship with one arm tied behind my back, and if you think..." she trailed off as his laughter told her she was being wound up. _

    He was rewarded with a particularly foul Devaronian curse.  Sumatra _hated_ being laughed at.

     He had to give her credit though.  As she raged at him, she had flipped Honey into a spin on

her horizontal axis, brought the ship over the Zeggate patrol ships and gone down through the centre

of them, giving him a clear shot into the group.  He squeezed off a few shots and was rewarded with the sight of the port engine on the nearest Z-95 going up in flames.  It turned round to go home, no longer any use in a fight.

     "One down, five to go." Sumatra said.  "Good shooting hot-shot!"

     "Thanks. How close are we to the edge of the shield?"

     "Not close enough.  About 30km away actually."

     "Well, if we can hold them off for a few more minutes, we'll at least be in space and Zeggate

 doesn't have _that_ big a gravity well.  We'll make it."

     "I hope so," Sumatra sighed.  "I'm getting tired of fighting"

     The _Honey_ came round for another pass and Omad managed to blow up the lead Z-95, which took its wingman with it in a cloud of flames.  The others seemed rather lost and he guessed that one of those two had been the leader.  Taking advantage of the slight confusion, Sumatra accelerated towards the edge of the planetary shield, but the Z-95s weren't that stupid.  They reformed in a wedge shape and gave pursuit.

     He aimed at the rightmost fighter, but missed, and the centre one in return fired a steady round of shots into the shield.  

     "How're the shields holding up Sumatra?" Omad yelled.

     "You don't want to know!"

     He looked at the three ships in front of him and aimed carefully at the weakest looking one, on the left hand side and poured laser fire into its shields.  It didn't stand a chance.  It exploded in a beautiful ball of fire, which seemed to disconcert the other two and they began to retreat.

     "Yee -ha!!  How about that?"  Omad shouted down to his co-pilot.

     "Great, honey, don't get on top of yourself!  And look behind you."

Omad turned round and saw the two Z-95s coming straight for him, not retreating at all!

     He grabbed the handholds and shot at them, but his aim was skewed and they were both unhurt.  

     "Hey Sumatra!  How far are we from the edge?" he said into the com.

     "'Bout 10 km."

     "By the Empire!" Omad swore "Is she going that slowly?

     "No, Bantha brain!  In the other direction.  We're swinging out towards space now."

     "Thank the stars for that!" he said in relief.  How long till we're clear of the gravity well?"

     "Not too long.  About five minutes or so.  See if you can't knock out those two following us while you're at it."

     "Doing it already."

     "I'll try and give you a better shot."

     He tracked the left-hand fighter with the cannon, but all the time keeping an eye on the right hand one, and sent a couple of deliberately wide shots at it.  Then he suddenly swung round and, with the flick of a switch, sent several rounds of linked fire into the right hand one's shields.  The other one chose his moment of jubilation as it exploded to come spiralling in, hitting the ship again and again with deadly accuracy.  But Sumatra was equal to the challenge.  Throwing the _Honey into a stomach churning loop, she arced up and round behind the last Z-95, giving Omad a brilliant shot at it._

     Unfortunately, he missed, and the small ship looped round for another pass, using a complicated corkscrew manoeuvre that was very hard to track.  "Why do the best always get left till last?" Omad muttered, "I hate it when that happens."

     "Oh bantha dung!" he added as a couple of shots wiped out the top shields.  

     He growled at it an ancient Rodian curse that meant something like: "Okay, you piece of Hutt slime.  This means war!" then grabbed the gun and sent a hail of laser bolts around the fighter, fencing it in.  "Sumatra! Arm the proton torpedoes and link them to the quad laser firing controls.  Fast!"

     "Okay Omad.  All ready."

     He pin pointed the little fighter in his targeting box, and fired the torpedoes.  It wasn't expecting a

 ship as pathetic looking as the _Honey to have missiles and it didn't know what hit it.  Omad took great_

 satisfaction from seeing it going up in flames, but he didn't wait around to gloat.

     "Sumatra!  Get us out of here!"  he shouted down the com.  "Wouldn't want to be here when their 

friends arrive, now would we?"

     "Shut up!"  she yelled back as she accelerated prior to going into lightspeed.

     Soon, the familiar pattern of starlines blossomed in the view screen, and they both relaxed. 


	2. POP!

Chapter 2 

"Good shooting back there, Omad."  Sumatra said

     "It could have been better."  Omad said morosely.  "As it is, we nearly didn't make it, and our shield

generator must have been slagged.  Speaking of which, I'd better go down and look at it before we 

come out of hyperspace.  Keep an eye on the controls will you?"

     "Will do." she replied.

     The shield generator had indeed slagged, and there was nothing he could do to fix it.  However,

 they were not without shields, and a quick scan revealed that the backup generator was in perfect 

working order.  "Sumatra!" he

called, "reroute shield power through the auxiliary generator and see if it's working OK.  An unpleasant

sounding  POP! answered him just a second before Sumatra said, "It's not working Omad.  "I had figured that" he said dryly.  "I'll try and see what's wrong with it"

     He went in to the small compartment where the generator was and found that the wires on the 

Command circuits linking it to the cockpit had rubbed against the power socket beside them and were 

being confused by the electrical charge.  He moved them away from it and put a bit of packing foam 

over the power socket, then asked Sumatra to try it again.

     She replied, doubtfully "It's working... but I don't think the shields'll last long in another fight."

     "We're not going to be in another fight." Omad replied "This ship is heading straight for the 

repair yard as soon as I've switched the ID beacon.  What would be a good one to use?

     "Use the Corellian registry since we're in a Corellian ship.  YT-700s are pretty rare outside 

Corellia since the newer models came in."

     "OK, I'll go and look that out.  Look for a port that's not too far away, but that probably wouldn't

have heard of our uh....._departure.  _They've probably forgotten that the hyperdrive on a 700 is in a 

different place to all the other YT series, so they'll think that our hyperdrive was knocked out or 

damaged by those hits.  Anything more than a few hours journey away should be safe.

"I'm working on it already." she said absently and Omad heard the click of keys as she queried the nav 

computer.

     Omad went into his tiny cabin and, extracting his box of datacards from a small corner locker, he

 pulled out one entitled 'Useful Phrases in The Most Common Languages of The Galaxy', a popular 

and well known publication, and took it up to Sumatra in the cockpit.

     "Found a likely place yet?  he asked.

     "Not yet." she replied in an abstracted manner.

     Settling into the pilot's chair, he inserted the datacard into a small slot tucked under the console 

and entered the passcode CRL-6S-140, the astrographic name for Corell, Corellia's sun.  That 

changed the ship's ID beacon  to that of a Corellian ship called the _Yellowbird_, owner one Chad Chocoune, co-pilot, a Devish named Zamentha.

     "Sumatra?" he said.

     "Mmm-hmm?" 

     "I've switched us to the _Yellowbird ID now, so remember: You're Zamentha and I'm Chad.  Got it?"_

     "Yeah. Zamentha,  Chad.  Got it."

     They sat in silence for a while, as Sumatra typed furiously and Omad watched the hypnotising 

patterns of starlines outside the viewport.

     Then suddenly Sumatra said

     "I've got it!  Here it is, about six or seven hours away from Zeggate.   It's called the Halian system. 

Eleven planets, three inhabited and all ruled by a royal house of the same name.  The middle planet,

 Halian itself is the most highly populated, the others, Halia and Halios are farming and  

manufacturing outposts with very few inhabitants and only one spaceport each.  No affiliation to 

either the Empire or the Rebels.  Looks safe enough to me."

     "Yeah.   Sounds fine to me too.  Drop out of hyperspace as soon as you find a decent spot and we'll

 reroute to there."

     So saying, Omad decided to head for his cabin to look out clothes to fit his identity as a slightly 

down-on-his-luck textiles trader.  Their hold was carrying a cargo of high quality (and highly illegal) 

silk made by the immature Sukha larvae on the planet Merim, but it would pass as the readily available 

lower grade Sukha silk from the same planet.  Sumatra would do fine as she was.  Devaronians all 

looked the same to most humans and other races and she didn't have any distinctive markings.

     He was brought out of his reverie before he could actually get up by Sumatra's voice.

     "I've calculated where we should be, travelling on this vector at the speed we're at, and we should be in clear nothingness at the moment."

    "All right," Omad replied, "I hope you're right.  Stand by to come out of hyperspace on my mark. 

 Three, two, one...Mark!"

     They dropped out of hyperspace into the reassuring safety of completely empty space.

     "Well done Sumatra, thanks.  Now to head for this Halian place.  You sure there's nothing closer 

to here?

     "Nothing." she replied.

     "OK.  Give me a second."  And he glanced at the co-ordinates on the nav computer.  "We're about

5 hours away from it at the moment so we have a bit of a trip.  I could do with a rest." 

     The ship wheeled round and headed off into the blackness.


	3. A lot of weird stuff

Thanks for all your reviews people – I'm glad you're enjoying the story.  Sorry about the review thing.  This is only my  firstfanfic so I'm getting to grips with the technology.  Keep reading and telling me what you think!  Purple Chapter 3 

Omad Zippah was sleeping deeply.  He was enjoying a particularly pleasant dream in which he was flying in a shooting competition and he was winning; every craft that came near him was shot down… POW…CRASH…another one bites the dust…the crowd cheer rapturously.  Until some little Z-95s come at him buzzing like wasps and he can't hear because the buzzing is so loud: he takes his hands off the controls to cover his ears and the ship spirals out of control…

'Shit!'  Omad woke up to the insistent buzz of his chrono unit, giving him half an hour until they came out of hyperspace at their destination, the planet Halian.  He peeked in the plexiglass plate on Sumatra's cabin door on on his way to the cockpit.  She was still asleep and he decided to leave her so; the fighting of earlier that day had obviously told on her, injured as she already was.  The instruments in the cockpit were quiet, with only the muted flash of the chrono, as it counted down the minutes and seconds and miliseconds of their hyperspace flight too quickly too follow the numerals, interrupting the general peace.

Omad went to the small galley/social area on his ship and opened a self heating breakfast pack; these convenient instant foods were the only practical way to eat on journeys like this.  He picked at it,

 regretting its small resemblance to real food and wandered back to the cockpit where there were still twenty-four minutes on the chrono.  To pass the time, he fed in his Galactic Encycolpaedia datacard and queried 'Halian system'.  The Galactic Encyclopaedia provided different information to the nav computer's standard statistics on atmosphere, population, spaceports etc. and he rather hoped it might give him some idea of the nature of the planet and its people.  In his trade, it was wise to be as well informed as possible: the most innocuous sounding planets might be peopled by religious weirdos or have addictive atmospheric chemicals.  This last was a personal experience of theirs from a run several years ago which involved delivering blaster components to a rebel faction on the planet Koh-See 6.  Certain elements of the atmosphere there were addictive within hours and he and Sumatra had both suffered painful withdrawal symptons on their departure.  He shook his head at that unpleasant memory and focused on the screen.

The results on Halian were succint.  'Average agricultural system, with only manufacturing being in implements for pet and livestock control.  Human presence dates only to immediately pre-Clone Wars period; references to a supposedly older indigenous race impossible to confirm.  Ruled by a self-styled royal family with heriditary succession through the female line.  Only site of interest to tourists is royal palace, an enormously elaborate building.  Tours are rarely given.  Local speciality dish is based on the bark of a certain kind of tree from the main planet, Halian, which has a delicious spongy texture.  Drinking, gambling and prostitution are frowned upon and these services are only found in areas immediately adjacent to the spaceports and frequented mainly by off-worlders.  Perfectly adequate for breaking hyperspace journeys, not recommended for longer stays.'

Omad read this through and frowned.  It sounded fine, yet there was something in there which made him distrust either the planet or the Encycolpaedia contributor who wrote the entry.  He leaned back and ate more of his breakfast; what was it that was not quite right?  Most of that decription could apply to thousands of quiet little Inner Rim systems.  

He was grateful to hear Sumatra's door open just then, so he waited until she appeared with a breakfast pack as well and sat down beside him.  'What do you think of this?' he asked, flashing the entry up on her console.  She scanned it quickly and said: 'Sounds ok. It's the bit about the 'older indigenous race' which make me a little curious. That information should be easily obtainable, given how recent in galactic terms the Clone Wars were.'  She looked at him.  'There's a lot of weird stuff out there..,'  Omad grinned and finished her sentence

'…and smuggling ain't the half of it!'  They had heard that one in a tapcafe on Coruscant and it appealed to their sense of humour.  'When I get a free moment I might engrave that somewhere,' Omad said, 'in the floor compartment maybe.'  

'Yeah, it'll give you something to read when you're hiding down there,' Sumatra drawled, referring to an incident when they had accidentally landed on a planet which executed humans on sight and Omad had spent an uncomfortable two days in the scanproof hole under the floor.  He scowled at her.  'I was in hiding for my _life_.'

'Whatever, you say, sweetheart.'  The Devish now appeared to be engrossed in the Encycolpaedia entry in front of her, but the suspicion of a smile played at her lips.  Omad chose to ignore her.

The chrono now gave them 10 minutes till they dropped out of hyperspace.  Omad stood up and wandered through to the mess area where his blaster lay on the floor, where it had been tossed in haste after the port fracas earlier.  He picked it up and cradled it, taking it over to a storage unit and putting  in a fresh power pack.  He snapped it in, then looked at the others the cupboard held, tightly stacked from floor to ceiling.  He put a few more into his boots, which had a fashionable design of square pockets, just the right size for power packs.  He then opened another unit and drew out a tiny sleeve blaster which fitted neatly into the upturned cuff of his shirt and a couple of knives which went inside his trousers in flat skin holsters.  So armed, he swaggered back to the cockpit and posed in front of Sumatra.  'What do you think?'  She eyed him critically and said

'If you think I am going to be impressed by your bulging blasters, you can think again darling.  In fact, I 'm only slightly less impressed than the port authorities will be with that arsenal.  You're aiming for law-abiding _civilian_ Omad!'

'It's good to be prepared.' Omad said huffily, nevertheless removing the big blaster.  

'Stash it quickly and get back here,' Sumatra said, 'three minutes till we come out of hyperspace.'

When he got back to his seat the chrono sat at 0:45 secs.  He watched it tick slowly down, then pulled the lever and watched as the lines of light resolved themselves into individual stars.  Down to their left floated the planets of the Halian system, reassuring beacons of life in empty space.  Tentatively, Omad revved up the sublight drive and the injured freighter crept towards the planets. 


	4. A little bit emotional

_Chapter_ _4_

When they finally reached the ege of the Halian planetary shield, the _Honey_'s comm received a call from Port Control. '_Yellowbird_, please state your cargo and purpose in visiting Halian.'  Omad replied  'Our sublight engine has been severely damaged and we need to land and carry out repairs.  We're traders – we're carrying a cargo of Merim silk, Grade 3.'  Omad had an ingratiating smile on his face as he said this which he hoped carried over the com in his voice.  The voice echoing in the _Honey_'s cockpit, instead of the friendliness Omad might have expected after this innocuous account, assumed a suspicious tone.  'What occasioned the damge to your ship?'  

Sumatra widened her eyes at Omad in worry.  In their line of work, suspicion was closely allied to danger and they couldn't put up much of a fight in their condition.  He mouthed 'It's ok,' at her and smiled reassuringly.  He ad-libbed 'We were caught in crossifre at our last port of call when the port authority were attempting to prevent another ship from leaving.  A stray shot knocked out our shield and we were hit a couple of times by asteroids on our exit vector.  To be honest with you (at this Sumatra raised her eyebrows) the whole bucket wasn't in the best condition anyway, and this just finished her off.  It's gonna be a long, expensive repair job.'  Omad finished on this, hoping that the prospect of revenue to the planet would improve the official's attitude.

There was a long pause.  Omad glanced at his co-pilot: she still looked worried although she was trying not to show him.  Sumatra was still something of a mystery to him, although they had been a team for several years now.  She was that rare thing: a female Devish away from her home planet, and more, making her living from illegal activities.  From all Omad knew about Devaronians, this was completely against their society.  It was normal for female Devaronians to stay on Devaron, running the planetary economy and raising children, while the feckless males with their incurable wanderlust roamed the galaxy.  Sumatra held her own in the smuggling community, and in their time together she had never shown herself to be any weaker than him, but Omad sometimes wondered whether she ever felt a biological 'pull' to be back on her own planet in the life normal to a female Devaronian.  She was older than him; he knew that, although not by how much, and occasionally she betrayed a maternal side that Omad suspected she tried to keep hidden.  At this moment she looked less a hardened smuggler and more a Devaronian female who was a long way, literally and metaphorically, from the life she would normally lead.  

The comm crackled into life again: 'Freighter _Honey_, you are cleared to land in Halian City, Docking Bay 21.  That bay's beacon has been activated and keyed to your comm.  Welcome to Halian.'  Omad let out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding and turned to grin at Sumatra.  'We made it!'  She still looked pale and didn't join his exultation.  His tone concerned, he asked her what was wrong.  'Nothing, kid!' was the snapped answer, but a moment later she dropped the act and confided: 'I just have a really bad feeling about this planet.'  

He tried to reassure her.  'Hey, Sumatra, I've got you all freaked out by asking you what was funny about that Encycolpaedia entry; you know, I'm sure that was just my imagination.  It seems _fine_.  And I wouldn't worry about the port guy – we've dealt with worse, haven't we?  She sighed and leaned back in her chair.  'Yeah, you're probably right.  I guess I'm just a little tired.  And I could do with getting this properly treated.'  She held up her injured left arm.  Omad smiled (in what he hoped was a comforting way; he wasn't used to this empathetic thing) and said: 'We have had a rather _exciting _time of it recently.  This place should be a good chance to have a rest.'  A small light flashing on the console reminded him of the data feed they were getting from bay 21's beacon.  'Are you ok to bring us in or do you want me to do it?' he asked solicitously.  Tha answer he got was a derogatory snort as she rerouted all the controls through her side of the console.  'You better go check all your toys are hidden before we the docking authority come for their tea-party,' she drawled, the sudden vulnerability just as suddenly gone.  He rolled his eyes at her back and went to make sure their cargo was properly stowed before they arrived on Halian.

A/N:  Sorry it took me so long to update, and sorry this one's so short.  I've been away from home several times over the last 3 weeks.  I do have a long plot all worked out and I've left my job now so hopefully I'll have more time to update.  Please tell me what you think of this chapter.  Thanks, 

Purple


	5. Dirtside

Chapter 5 

When the distressed whine of the sublight engine finally died down, minutes after he had cut to repulsorlifts to land the _Honey, _Omad was too relieved to make a song and dance about it.  He turned to Sumatra: 'I guesss we should have got her repaired a while ago.'  She crowed at this 

'Woohoo flyboy, better get your temperature checked!  That sounded dangerously close to admitting you were wrong.'  She laughed, baring her impressive teeth.      

'_We,_' Omad muttered under his breath.  '_We_ decided not to service her.'

'No sweetheart, I believe that decision was yours.  _I _never pretended to be a mechanic.'  She gave another chortle which turned into a yawn as she stretched.  She got up and peered out at the brown ferrocrete walls of the docking bay, sunlit in Halian's late afternoon.  'Well, I sure am glad to be on solid ground for a while.'  She turned to leave the cockpit.

At that moment the _Honey_'s comm showed an incoming call.  Omad flicked open the line 'Freighter _Yellowbird_, Chad Chocoune speaking?'  The reply came in the slightly odd timbre of a droid's voice.

'This is 2-1B –IL, the medical droid attached to the port facility.  Lifeform readings show that one on your vessel is injured.  Please allow me access for treatment.'  

Omad whistled.  'Their sensors are that sophisticated?  Just as well the compartments are shielded!  Well, I'd better let it in.'  He reached across to the comm button and held it down.  'Medical droid, you are cleared to enter.'  The shield door of the docking bay opened and one of the distinctive 2-1B droids rolled in.  Omad went out to lower the ship's ramp and welcome the droid.  'Greetings,' it said as it trundled onto the _Honey, _'Where is the patient?'  

'I'm here,' Sumatra's voice rang out from the lounge area.  The droid followed Omad through and started unfolding diagnostic appendages in a kind of mechanical glee when it saw Sumatra.  She held out the arm to it matter-of-factly and it was only a moment before the droid said 'It's only a flesh wound, although inexpertly treated.  An hour in a bacta tank would heal it completely.  That might also help with the enervation you will be feeling Madam,' and it looked at Sumatra.  

'Sounds bliss,' the Devaronian said shortly, 'but I'd be much obliged if you'd just put a dressing on it and piss off.'

'Unable to comply,' the droid said.  'I must give patients the best possible treatment.  Please come with me now; there is a bacta tank dedicated to the port.  The treatment is free.'  

'Come on Zamentha, why not?' Omad coaxed, 'I'm sure you'd feel a lot better.'

'Humph!' was her reply, but she got up anyway.  The droid began to make its way out and she whispered Omad's ear 'Well, if it's _free…'_  He called after her

'I'll see you back here, fighting fit, in a couple of hours.' 

As the droid and its patient moved out of sight round the bulk of the ship, Omad allowed himself to laugh.  'A smuggler to the core – touchy, and always on the lookout for a bargain!'  He walked down the ramp and onto the ferrocrete.  The air smelled like all spaceports but he inhaled it deeply anyway; it was a welcome change from the recycled air on board ship.  They hadn't stopped at any port for longer than one night for some months now; this lucrative deal with the Merim silk producers had kept them very busy.  He rather thought it would be fun to be dirtside for a while, a kind of holiday for them.  He wasn't unduly worried about delivering their cargo.  It wasn't as if they had a tight schedule to stick to or anything – after all, they were smugglers and if their trading partners had forgotten that, then it was their own funeral.  Omad grinned and stamped the ground, making a thud that resounded round the docking bay.  'Oh, yes, this could be very enjoyable indeed.'

As he was standing there a sound he recognised came over the blast walls at him: the sound of a Devish screaming in fury.  'Shit, Sumatra!' he swore and he sprinted out of the bay, palm blaster ready.  When he reached the street outside he saw nothing unusual so he ran down to the bottom where there was a junction with two other streets.  He couldn't see anything at all, of either Sumatra or a fight.  He turned to a couple of guys who were sitting on the corner, playing some kind of gambling game.  'Did you see anything?' he demamded. 'A Devaronian female with a 2-1B droid came this way a moment ago – was there some kind of fight?  I heard her scream.'

'Saw nothin',' the first guy said.

'Busy,' said the second, indicating the game.

'But you must have seen something or heard that scream.  It didn't come out of nowhere!' Omad was tense with frustration and worry and the blaster was feeling worryingly good in his hand right now.

'Heard nothin',' said the first guy.

'Busy,' said the second.  Omad left them to it and stomped back to Bay 21 intending to make some aggressive inquiries over the com.

As he reached the blast door, he noticed a small feline creature sitting against the wall.  It looked like it might be a predator – for killing small vermin perhaps.  Must be plenty for it to do round here, Omad thought.  The port was rather shabby.  It shouldn't be in the bay though.  Omad was a firm believer in keeping animals and machines well apart.  He kicked at it, without actually striking it, intending to scare it off.  When that didn't work he nudged it with the toe of his boot and said 'Shoo!'  That wasn't much of a success either; in fact the small thing got up and went further into the bay.  'Oh, sod it!' Omad exclaimed, 'you might as well stay.'  'Whatever you are,' he added as an afterthought.  'You sure don't look like anything I've seen before.'

'Well, unless you've been to Halian before, which I doubt, to be honest, you wouldn't have.  We are the Krreeval, the native species of this planet.'  Omad looked at the feline thing.

'You're the native species?  Well, to be frank, it doesn't look like you're ruling your native planet now, so what happened?'  This came out more agressively than he had intended and he felt guilty as soon as he had said it.  Still, he was worried about Sumatra and talking to an insignificant rodent-killer just didn't seem like the best way forward right now.  'Rodent-killer?' the Krreeva said.  Omad looked at the thing.  He was pretty sure he hadn't said that out loud.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N:  Again, sorry it's quite short.  Please R&R,  Purple


	6. A Business Arrangement

Chapter 6 

'You didn't say it _out loud_ as such,' the Krreeva said, looking up at him with its rather unnerving golden eyes.  'Although it was rather audible,' it added to itself, and seemed to cock its head and wait for a moment before continuing.  'I know you're worried about your friend.'  It cocked its head again.  Omad could see that gesture becoming unsettling, _'not that I intend to give it that much time'_ he thought emphatically.  'Much more unsettling is the fact that you're talking to me at all.  And please let's move away from this doorway…'  The Krreeva turned and nochalantly strolled up the ramp of the _Honey_.  'Hey!' Omad half-shouted before he realised how odd it would look, to be shouting at the little creature.  He followed it meekly into his ship.  It seemed he didn't have a lot else to do and it definitely knew something about Sumatra.  Sumatra… Omad sighed.  That furious scream was uppermost in his thoughts but the oppressive calmness of the street outside the bay made him feel defeated before he had even started fighting.  '_And she knew something was wrong here._'

'I wouldn't worry about it,' the Krreeva purred.  'You're here now: that's the main thing.'  Omad glared at it.  'Look, I don't know what's going on here and I don't have time to work it out, so could you please just explain who you are and why you're here or go, and I can get back to finding my friend.'  He spat the last word out; this bloody Krree-thing was beginning to piss him off.

'Krreeval,' it corrected, almost absently.  Its little head was tilted to one side and it paused a moment before speaking again.

'We are the Krreval, the native species of Halian.'

'_Yes,_' Omad hissed through gritted teeth, 'you said.'  The Krreeva ignored him.

'We are the only sentient species native to the planet and were developing well along the usual pattern until  about 50 years before the Clone Wars.  At that point we were developing mechanisation.  Unfortunately for us, a group of human religious dissidents landed on our planet intending to make it their new homeworld.  At that point we did not fight because we knew we could not win.  They are the human rulers of this world you see today.  We have waited for our time to reclaim our world ever since and we belive that it is very near.'  Omad was preparing to speak again and the Krreeva forestalled his question: 'We are also telepathic.'

He scowled at it.  'So you've been reading my mind?'

'Well you haven't been putting any kind of damper on your emotions; in fact you've been broadcasting like a loudspeaker.  And, Mr Zippah, I do not think this state of anger that you are in is helpful to either of us or conducive to our conversation.'

'You know my real…? Oh, _mindreading_.  That bloody well explains everything!'  Omad was not making a noticeable effort to control his anger.  The Krrreeva climbed onto the table between them and looked intensely at him.  Omad noticed a set of long sharp claws emerging from its paws.  'Do you want our help or do you not?' it demanded.  'Because we are beginning to lose patience with you, Mr Zippah, and I need hardly remind you that …Sumatra is it?…is in considerable danger.  So will you _please_ just sit back and listen to what I have to tell you.  We are trying to help you,' it added in a softer voice.  Omad muttered under his breath, but this did seem like the best of his options now and anger was not an emotion he was able to maintain for very long.  He settled in his chair and the Krreeva retracted its claws.

'As I said, we are telepathic.  We are in near-constant contact with others of our race and we are able to communicate with humans and several other species as well.  Not that many non-humans come here.'  Omad was listening intently now; here was the crucial information.  'The human rulers of this planet are fiercly xenophobic and are all devoted followers of a religion that enshrines this prejudice.  Humans who are not of their religon are tolerated but not allowed to settle unless they convert.  Non-humans however are imprisoned for a ritual period of a month and then executed.'

'Executed?'  Omad echoed.  The bottom seemed to fall out of his stomach.  'Oh gods, Sumatra…'

'Is now in a secure prison counting down 26 days until she is beheaded at dawn and her body burned on the trance-bonfire.'  Stunned and horrified, Omad felt almost helpless, crushed under this spine-chilling news.  'I know it's hard to bear the news of a friend's doom,' the Krreeva said softly.  'We have decided to help you both, in return for your help with our uprising.

'Your wha..?  You expect us to help you start a civil war?'

'Not just start,' it said matter-of-factly, 'fight and win too.'

Fight an…uh-huh.' Omad saw no point in hiding his scepticism if the creature could read his mind anyway.  He looked at it  'I suppose I have no choice if I want to save Sumatra?' he asked.  The Krreeva gently shook its head.  'This is a kind of business arrangement Mr Zippah.  You need our help and we need yours.  In the end we shall both be satisfied.  Don't worry,' it added, 'we don't expect it to be a long war.'

'A long wa…'  Omad gave up.  As the Krreeva said, it was business.  And what is a smuggler but a businessman in a pirate hat?

'All right, my friend.  What now?' 

A/N:  Wow, I seem to be taking ages to develop the plot.  It is coming, honest!  And I thank you Yaebginn for being my only reviewer.  You are obviously a discerning reader (!)

Purple


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